The Golden Goose
by Happy123
Summary: Hetalia Fairy Tales 2: The Golden Goose, Spain/Romano. mostly rated for Romano's foul mouth.
1. Chapter 1

_Disclaimer: Hetalia characters are not owned by me._

_Notes: This is based on the story of the golden goose. And all the genders of the characters are still the same._

_Pairings: SpainxRomano, hints of GermanyxItaly_

**The Golden Goose**** (Part One)**

"You did WHAT?"

His Majesty King Rome of Italy winced as the shout reverberated through the room. Holding his hands up in an attempt to calm the snarling brunette, he smiled weakly, "Now, Lovi – "

A ball of parchment hit him in the forehead. "Don't "Lovi" me, you old bastard! What the fuck were you thinking?"

Huffing, the prince(ss) – really, what was the old fart's obsession with those poufy-pink _things_ – crossed his arms and glared at his insane father.

"Well..." The king rubbed his head sheepishly, glancing nervously at his son's twitching hands, "Your younger brother Feliciano already snapped up that hot German stud, Prince Ludwig, and I couldn't bear to have you here all alone..."

"So you had to do this?!? Isn't it enough that you made Feli go to all those stupid balls in dresses, let alone ones that vanished at midnight?" (1) Chest puffing in exertion, Romano groped behind him for his tomatoes.

"It worked?" Rome tried to smile, but it ended up looking like an extremely painful grimace.

"That doesn't explain why you had to come up with this idiotic – "

A tomato smashed into the wall behind Rome, missing him by bare millimeters.

"shitty – "

Smack!

"half-assed– "

The king brought his arms up in a futile attempt to ward off the red projectiles.

"plan, you asshole!" he finished, hurling the last of the tomatoes at his sorry excuse for a father. Princess Romano snatched up his beloved tomato basket and marched out of the room. Pausing in the doorway for one last parting shot, he yelled, "And don't ever mention that potato bastard in front of me again!"

The door slammed behind him.

HETALIAHETALIAHETALIAHETALIAHETALIAHETALIAHETALIAHETALIAHETALIA

_The Royal Proclamation - April 13, 2390 AG_

_By the King. A Proclamation_

_Rome R._

_We do hereby proclaim a contest to win the hand of the fair Princess Romano and the Kingdom of Italy. The challenge is as follows:_

_First__ – the challenger must possess attractive physical qualities. Our Royal Majesty shall determine the suitability of all contestants._

_Secondly__ – the challenger must be able to cook a dish with tomatoes in it. His Highness Princess Romano will judge the quality of the dish._

_Thirdly__ – the challenger shall make His Highness Princess Romano laugh._

_Each qualification will be held separately with one challenge each day. Each contest must be completed before the challenger is permitted to move on to the next one._

_The contest will be held a week from today, from the 20__th__ day of April 2390 AG to the 22__nd__ day of April 2390 AG in the main hall of our palace in Vargas. (2)_

_Given at our court at Vargas the 13__th__ day of April 2390 AG in the Thirtieth Year of Our Reign._

_TONY SAVE THE KING. (3)_

_Warning: If the final acquisitions are not to the challenger's liking, he may not return said prizes to Our Majesty. Failure to comply this request will result in offender being dispensed to the mafia._

A snort made Spain look up from the paper. "You actually thinking of competing in that?" The white-haired, red-eyed man next to him drawled, lounging against the tavern door.

"But Prussia!" Spain said, eyebrows lifting in surprise, "Haven't you seen your brother's new wife? He's so ccccuutteee!!!!!!!!" His eyes closed blissfully as he recalled the image of Princess Feliciano in his white wedding gown.

Prussia slapped a hand to his face. "Don't count on that. I've heard plenty of rumors about Feli's older brother, and none of them are complimentary." A smirk suddenly appeared on his face. "Of course, that's what makes it fun."

Spain glanced curiously at his companion. "Well, if you think I shouldn't…"

"Nah, go ahead! There's just rumors, anyways."

Spain smiled. "Okay! Thanks, Prussia!" He danced out of the room, calling for his horse and carriage along the way.

Prussia followed, cackling.

HETALIAHETALIAHETALIAHETALIAHETALIAHETALIAHETALIAHETALIAHETALIA

Romano glared at the grooves in the table before him. Stupid Rome! It was all his fault! If it weren't for that stupid edict of his, Romano wouldn't be stuck out here with everyone gawking at him.

Screw Rome. And screw Feliciano and that potato bastard of his. If his idiotic brother hadn't gotten _married_ – much less in that stupid dress of his – than the old man wouldn't have gotten this fucking plan and –

Romano sighed. He really had been out here too long if his brain was already going around in circles. He'll just have to wait a few more hours (he had to admit, Rome was being picky about what he constituted as good-looking, so the contestants who passed the first round – and who were standing far too close to his personal bubble – were rather few in number) before this thing was over…

A loud crash interrupted his thoughts. Whipping his head around, Romano prepared to give the intruder a verbal thrashing when his mouth dropped open.

The guy in front of him wasn't the best looking person Romano had ever seen, but there was something about his tanned skin, his laughing green eyes, and warm smile that drew the princess towards him.

"Like what you see?"

Romano jumped and swore, glaring up at the white-haired cretin who had suddenly popped up behind him.

"Get away from me, you idiot!"

"Hey, princess, relax. I'm just a friend of that suitor of yours there." Prussia grinned. "And you're avoiding the subject, since you were just oogling Spain."

"I was not!" Huffing in indignation, Romano turned away and closed his eyes.

_Spain._ So that was his name.

**TBC...**

_NOTES__: (1) Romano alludes to the GermanyxItaly Cinderella story that I will eventually write. _

_(2) Vargas is the name of the capital of the Kingdom of Italy (I felt it would be weird if King Rome had the same name as the capital)._

_(3__) Tony was substituted for "God" in "God save the King" because Tony totally rules the universe._


	2. Chapter 2

_Disclaimer: Hetalia characters are not owned by me._

_Notes: This is based on the story of the golden goose. And all the genders of the characters are still the same._

_Pairings: SpainxRomano, hints of AmericaxEngland_

**The Golden Goose (Part Two)**

Umph. Romano pulled the bedcovers closer to him. It sucked having to wake up at the crack of dawn, but Rome had insisted that he be present for all the festivities.

Whatever.

"Chigi," the princess muttered, tugging at the covers again. Odd, the blankets weren't usually this heavy. It was as if something was lying on top of them –

Romano bolted upright, snatching his covers closer to him and kicking the dead weight out of his bed. "You perverted old man!" He raged, fumbling around for his tomato basket, "what the hell are you doing!?"

Rome rubbed his head ruefully, "But Lovi~ you're going to get married soon! And Feli always liked it when we slept together!"

"GET OUT!"

"But Lovi~"

Seeing as Romano had already secured his prized basket and was already reaching into it, Rome decided that now would be a good time to beat a hasty retreat.

As Rome's receding backside quickly scuttled out of the door, Romano smirked. Did that stupid asshole think that he would miss that large of a target?

**HETALIAHETALIAHETALIAHETALIAHETALIAHETALIAHETALIAHETALIA**

_(Vargas Palace, 12:20 midday)_

Romano glared at the dishes before him. What kind of crap did these idiots think was fine cuisine, let alone edible fare? Those losers were just lucky stupid Rome had confiscated his beloved tomatoes or they would all be carrion for tomatoes.

But seriously, tomato juice?

_Way overdone._

Tomato ice cream and cream cheese are swirled together with rose petals adorning the plate?

…_Urgh, just urgh (and the necessary vomiting that accompanied it)._

Crushed tomatoes (_HOW DARE HE–_) arranged in a circle around two perfectly shaped eggplants.

_A call was made to the mafia to get rid of the originator of such a travesty._

Although there were a few good dishes, they were only passably so (margarita pizza, spaghetti, and so on). Rome gave those competitors an a-okay, partly because Romano had eaten most of those dishes. In Romano's defense, this was only because a certain someone had insisted that he skip breakfast in order to – ah, what was that phrase again? – oh yes – "savor the delightful dishes of love!"

If this was love, Romano was considering telling it to go stuff itself a closet, among other things that are not mentionable in polite society.

So there Romano was, sitting under that stupid hot sun and eating stupid, mediocre dishes (because he was starving, dammit!), when suddenly he spotted that idiot, Spain, approaching him with a covered dish and smiling happily at him.

Romano fought to stop the tomatoes from taking over his cheeks (he was losing).

"Ohh~~~~ Princess Romano! You look just like a tomato! So cute!!!"

A vein pulsed in Romano's forehead.

Still, it was better not to expend so much energy just before his siesta (Thank god this torture would be ending in ten minutes!). And he still had to reach into his emergency pasta supply before he could take his nap.

"Well?" Romano demanded impatiently, "Let's get this over with."

But when Spain set the dish in front of him, Romano stared at it hesitantly. The idiot probably wouldn't make it pass this round. Stupid Spain.

"Princess~ why aren't you – oh, es mi culpa!" (1) In one swift movement, Spain reached over and removed the lid of his dish.

Revealing a plate of the loveliest pasta Romano had ever seen.

A delicious aroma waffled through the air, and Romano could already _taste_ the tomatoes in the pasta sauce. Wasting no time, Romano quickly picked up his fork and started shoveling the pasta into his mouth.

"Well," King Rome grinned, winking at Spain, "I guess that means you have passed your second trial, youngster!"

Romano barely spared a glance upwards. Whatever. He had his wonderful pasta with him now, and the world could go to hell for all he cared.

"And the last task," Rome continued, still smiling (goddamn bigheaded jerk – Romano grumped, chewing on his pasta), "which requires causing Princess Romano to laugh, will be held tomorrow at the ball from six in the evening to midnight!"

Chigi.

**HETALIAHETALIAHETALIAHETALIAHETALIAHETALIAHETALIAHETALIA**

After saying goodnight to Prussia (and declining his offer to go get drunk with him), Spain wandered outside the inn. His smile was more subdued now. It was gratifying how he had already made it past two days, but tomorrow awaited the final – and most difficult – challenge. However much Spain considered himself a man of passion, getting someone to laugh didn't depend entirely on his wooing skills, great as they were.

Weighed down by his mounting anxiety, Spain sighed. If only he could –

Suddenly the perfect idea popped into his head. He could summon his fairy godmother!

A smile immediately lit his face, and he danced a little in place. Even though his fairy godmother was rather strange (she always insisted that "I'm not a woman, and I'm not your god_**mother**_, you sodding wanker!" – but if that was true, why was she wearing a dress? "It's part of my bloody costume!" See? She wore a rather sparkly dress, so she was a godmother!), Spain could always rely on her to whip out some potions or spells (or that rather nasty chair of hers) to help him with his predicaments.

Of course, although Spain had heard that she had recently blotched up one of her spells and was taking a nice, long nap, he wasn't too concerned (siestas were good of everyone, and his fairy godmother did need a break).

Hopefully when Spain tried to call her she would have already woken up. And so he knelt down on his knees and intoned slowly, "I wish the Britannia Angel was here. I wish the Brit – "

Scarcely had he spoken when a brilliant flash of light interrupted him.

While Spain was blinking away the last few blotches of darkness from his eyes, he squinted up at the person beside him.

Although the stranger did have his fairy godmother's wand in hand, Spain had to admit that the two were rather different.

Seeing Spain open his mouth in confusion, the apparition smiled.

"The Britannia Angel is currently on his honeymoon, so I am now your fairy godmother. Now come tell me all of your troubles, da?"

**TBC…**

Notes: (1) Es mi culpa = Spanish for "my fault" (thank you, morficall!)

Additional: I know I said this would be two parts, but oh well…


	3. Chapter 3

_Disclaimer: Hetalia characters are not owned by me._

_Notes: This is based on the story of the golden goose. And all the genders of the characters are still the same._

_Pairings: SpainxRomano, hints of GermanyxItaly and one-sided PrussiaxHungary_

**The Golden Goose**** (Part Three)**

**(evening, Romano's room)**

Romano closed the curtains of his windows and sighed.

It had been a long day.

Reaching down to pick up a tomato, Romano tried to muster up his customary (and perpetual) irritation towards the world.

_Those goddamn bastards. They can't even cook up a decent tomato dish. __Don't they even – _

Romano placed the tomato back into the basket. It was no use. He couldn't get that stu Spain out of his mind.

He was just like his brother, going off after another dumbass. It was hard being an Italian – especially a Vargas – in love.

But he wasn't his brother, and for all of his Italian looks and Vargas fashion (no matter how reluctantly he wore it), Romano knew that he wasn't cue or cuddly enough to be likable.

Feliciano probably could have made Spain fall in love with him. Romano wasn't stupid; he had heard Prussia talking to the green-eyed man about "getting tricked" by Romano having the distinction of being Feliciano's twin. He had left (quietly) before he could hear the Spaniard's answer, but he knew what it would be. Everyone – even their own father Rome – had said it.

"_Why can't he be cute like Feliciano?"_

Romano had enough goddamn respect not to throw a hissy fit about his. He could fucking shoot apples and eggplants out of the garden from his tower room (curse those tomato-leeching plants!). He didn't get dragged off or forced to clean fireplaces like Feli did. When that loser, Turkey, tried to get Romano to wash his laundry for him, the kidnapper had ended up with his best bedsheets (taken from his guest room where Romano was locked in) ripped up and twisted into the Italian's escape rope. Romano smirked. Serve that mask-wearing creep right for underestimating his skills.

And Feli probably would have just used them for his trademark white flags or aprons (he blamed Hungary for his brother's obsession with those abominations).

Shaking his head slightly, Romano forced those thoughts out of his head. What was he thinking, becoming all jealous of Feliciano like that? And all over one stupid suitor who probably didn't like him anyways.

It wasn't worth it.

But if that was true, why did he suddenly feel like crying?

Wrenching his mind away from these thoughts, the Italian pulled the bedcovers over his head. Rome was insisting on another early day to get ready for the evening ball tomorrow.

Stupid Germany. This all had to be his fault somehow.

**HETALIAHETALIAHETALIAHETALIAHETALIAHETALIAHETALIAHETALIA**

**(morning, inn where Spain and Prussia are staying)**

Stepping through the doorway into his room, Spain wandered over to the bed and collapsed on it.

It had been a tiring evening. While his new fairy godmother was very kind (Ivan kept asking if he could become closer to him – wasn't that nice? He wanted to become friends with Antonio!), the Russian had made a lot of strange comments that confused the Spaniard (what did "kolkolkol" mean anyways?). The fairy godmother had also given Spain (after Antonio explained his problem with Lovino) a magical object that he couldn't understand what to do with.

"_-ey!"_

But, Spain thought, fists clenching in determination, he wouldn't give up, not when he had acquired such a precious and heartfelt gift! Russia had seemed sincere when he wished him good luck on getting closer to Lovino (the taller man also said that his own dream* could finally come true with it – Antonio hoped that the nice Russian would obtain one to become friends with all the people he wanted to**).

"_Antonio, __don't ignore the awes-"_

He must think up of a way to make Princess Romano laugh from it by midnight!

"_Would you l__ook at that? Romano's parading around outside in lingerie! Of course, he still isn't as awesome as I am –_"

What?

Before his mind had fully processed Prussia's words, Spain found himself standing beside the window, peering eagerly outside. A few moments later (after confirming that there were no scantily-dressed Italians in the streets), Spain sighed and turned around to face his friend.

Prussia smirked at him. "You have so got it bad, lover-boy!"

"So," The red-eyed man continued, still grinning predatorily, "what were you doing all night? Finally got some with that spit-fire?"

"I went to see my fairy godmother, but she wasn't there." Spain said, frowning a little as he recalled the Britannia Angel's absence. It _was_ odd that the angel would miss out on helping her charges; no matter how much the fairy godmother complained and grouched, she really did care about all of them and wouldn't have missed a summons unless something had happened...

"But," straightened Spain, his face brightening, "Ivan was there and he gave me this!"

Taking the Russian's gift out of his pocket, the Spaniard presented it with a flourish to his friend.

"So what's it's supposed to do?" Prussia eyed the proffered item dubiously. Using a gift from a substitute fairy godmother? That sounded suspicious, but it was a beautiful golden color...hey, wasn't this a –

"Well," Spain said, rubbing his head sheepishly, "Ivan told me that if anyone touches me when I'm holding it without my permission, whatever they use to touch me with will be stuck to me. And anyone else who touches either one of us will be stuck to whoever they touch. But I don't know how I will be able to win the fair hand of Princess Romano with it..."

Prussia stood quietly by and let Spain ramble on. The albino could hear a choir of angels singing the halleluiah chorus in the background.

Feliciano was right. There was a God (his name was Ivan)!

Quickly reaching out to grab hold of the Spaniard's sleeve, Prussia drawled, "Don't worry about a thing, Tony, I've got just the idea. But – " he said, holding a hand out to stop Antonio from hugging him in excitement, "I do have to make one phone call."

Spain smiled happily as the albino hurried out of the room. He knew that Prussia was an amazing, awesome friend (the albino had even told him!), but this was beyond anything that anyone (except, of course, Lovi) could have done for Spain.

**(downstairs, in the telephone room**** of the inn)**

Prussia drummed his fingers impatiently on the wooden surface of the desk. Come on, he thought, pick it up, pick it up –

"Ciao?" (1)

Bingo.

"Hey, Feli!"

"Gilbert~~! Do you need to speak to Ludwig?"

"Nah, not now. I'll talk to West later. Is Hungary there?"

"Yes – (a short pause) but she says that she wouldn't talk to you even if you were the only...um...(short pause)...person left in existence."

Prussia grinned.

"Just tell her that your brother's getting married, and he's willing to wear a dress for it."

(distant squealing from the telephone)

"What? Oh...Gilbert, Hungary-neesan wants me to tell you that she's heading over there, and she's bringing dresses for him so he doesn't have to worry about that..."

Hook, line, and sinker. There was no doubt about it, Prussia was made of AWESOME!

"and...um...Gilbert?"

"Yeah?"

"I...well...how did you get Lovi to agree to wear a dress? He's very stubborn and he _hates_ (Feliciano sounded rather distressed at the idea) dresses..."

"Well let's just say that my old buddy Tony can be very persuasive when he wants to," Prussia grinned, pushing back his chair and placing his boot (and dirt) clad feet on top of the desk. He ignored the disapproving glares the other inn guests shot him.

"They must really be in love, ve!"

"Completely besotted."

It was so perfect that Gilbert wanted to cry.

**HETALIAHETALIAHETALIAHETALIAHETALIAHETALIAHETALIAHETALIA**

**(****11:50 pm, near the pasta section of the refreshments table, ballroom of palace)**

So that was it.

That bastard wasn't even coming.

Fuck. What was he thinking, anyways? It served him right, hoping that asshole would show up. What was he expecting, Spain to sweep him off his feet? Drag him onto the dance floor? Pull out another plate of heavenly pasta? Hug him? Ki –

There was a sound of a throat being cleared behind him. Romano refused to turn around; it was probably just another stupid suitor trying to get him to dance or doing stupid tricks to make him laugh.

"Romano."

Oh. So it was the old man.

"I know that Spain didn't show up, but perhaps you would like to – (a pause) Are you crying?"

"Of course not, damn it! I'm just tired and pissed off because a certain asshole made me skip my siesta today to get ready for this goddamn, dumbass ball!"

He wasn't crying, there was just dust in his eyes from all these idiots kicking up all that dead human skin off of the ground! Romano was about to blow a fuse, and when he did, there would be dead people lying on the floor –

He was just fucking tired of fighting the world.

"Well," Romano started, caught off guard by the gentle, compassionate tone in the king's voice, "I suppose that the ball has gone off long enough." A hand patted his shoulder gently – damnit! He was not crying, not crying!

Raising his voice so everyone could hear him, the King of Vargas began, "I would like to – "

He never got to finish his sentence, because just then the ballroom doors burst open.

A dead silence fell over everyone in the room as the strangest band of people strode in.

Well, not really strode in, because it seemed as if the entire group was dancing the bunny hop, except that instead of holding each other's waists, everyone seemed to be clinging to the person in front of them in strange (and very awkward) places. There was even an albino man near the front of the enormous line of people with his hands attached to the lower back area of a red-faced girl. Since her hands were stuck to the Spaniard in front of her, the brunette was kicking at him every few hops; she seemed to have very good aim – the white-haired man was sporting quite a few bruises (and judging from the twisted grimace on his face, she had probably inflicted more permanent damage to him elsewhere).

But Romano, once the initial shock of the spectacle had passed, found himself locking gazes with Spain. The Spaniard, seeing him looking at him, smiled that warm smile of his and waved the golden tomato he was cradling carefully in his hands at him.

Romano must have been stuck in that stuffy, hot ballroom for way too long.

The pasta probably had experimental chemicals in it.

And the golden tomato was most likely spelled to make Romano lose his mind.

Because just when Spain (still bouncing in place) stopped a few feet away from him, Romano smiled.

It wasn't a large grin, or even a normal-sized one. In fact, it was rather small – just a slight upturning of his lips. It wasn't even accompanied by laughter of any kind.

But somehow, it was more beautiful than all of those smiles would have been.

**HETALIAHETALIAHETALIAHETALIAHETALIAHETALIAHETALIAHETALIA**

**(morning****, [****mafia headquarters]**** family meeting room in palace)**

"It'll have to have frills and lace and oh – of course it _has_ to be pink!"

"For the last time, I AM NOT WEARING A DRESS!"

"But Lovi~! You would look so cute in it!"

"SHUT UP! If you want a dress so badly, go wear one yourself! And where's Prussia? If that pervert looks in on me I'll – Spain! You're supposed to protect me! Go make sure he doesn't break in or something!"

Spain's eyebrows furrowed slightly. His friend had been stuck in the hospital for some time after the golden tomato spell had been released (the Spaniard had been glad that Prussia was able to think up of a use for it – he couldn't figure out what Ivan had intended the tomato to be used for originally. After all, why would Ivan have wanted to stick people together like that?), by the courtesy of Hungary's portable frying pan.

"I think he's still in the hospital, but – "

"Go make sure that he doesn't break out of there, then! The security there isn't exactly top-notch, you know – "

"You shouldn't be concerned about him getting out of there; he hasn't quite recovered the use of his legs or arms yet, you see," Hungary beamed a dazzling smile at the two men.

When the atmosphere was a little less menacing (it was so thick even Antonio picked up on a bit of it), Spain ventured, cautiously, "Will he be alright?"

"Oh, don't worry," she smirked, her eyes flashing darkly, "If he's as awesome as he says he is, he'll recover. Eventually." She flounced out of the room, calling back over her shoulder that she was going to ask Feliciano to send them some more fabric.

As the door shut behind her, a sudden lull surged over the two remaining occupants in the room.

Romano broke the silence, throwing a half-hearted glare in his betrothed's direction. "You know, you didn't actually pass the third test. You only made me sm – (that was close; Romano had almost mentioned the "s" word) you didn't make me laugh, you cheating bastard!"

Spain blinked, considering Lovino's words. "I suppose I didn't," he mused, rubbing his chin in slight puzzlement.

"Damn right you didn't, shithead."

Romano crossed his arms, pouting and trying to direct a vitriolic glare at the Spaniard. The effect was ruined when Spain suddenly lifted the protesting Italian into his lap.

"Well, I guess I have the rest of our lives to try, don't I?" Spain smiled, reaching down to cover Romano's lips with his.

**Notes:**

*Ivan's ultimate dream is for everyone to become one with Russia

**Spain is assuming that Ivan just wants more friends.

(1) Ciao – Italian for hello


End file.
